“BLADE WALTZ” - Electric Violin // Heavy Bass // Dark Electronic Mix // Dark Club // Industrial Metal // Symphonic Electro
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The Shadows of Tremere: A Gothic Poem
In the dim-lit halls where whispers creep,
Where shadows weave and secrets keep,
The Tremere, cloaked in mystic lore,
Awake from slumber, to walk once more.
In ages past, their fangs did gleam,
A house of mages, a haunted dream,
They sought the dawn of eternal night,
Yet found in darkness their cursed plight.
From Vienna's heart, their web unfurled,
A tapestry spun through the mortal world,
In Europe’s veins and North America’s breath,
They whispered of power, they beckoned death.
Oh, Victorian nights, so steeped in mirth,
Where occult fires lit the earth,
They danced through salons, in silks of despair,
Enticing the curious with a beguiling stare.
Secret societies, their lairs concealed,
To the Tremere's charms, many have kneeled;
Childer drawn forth from shadows and ash,
To serve as pawns in a darkened clash.
With the flick of a wrist, they conjured delight,
In the midst of the living, out of the night,
Divination and conjuration, spirits did call,
What was once feared now enthralling all.
From the whispers of ghosts to the flickering flame,
In the heart of the storm, they rose to acclaim,
But beneath the facade, a hunger did grow,
For the blood of the living, a sinister flow.
Yet still, the hierarchy wove its design,
As the Inner Council held the thin line,
Through the web of communication, they spun,
Binding their fates until all was undone.
In lands untraveled, where shadows do play,
Africa and Asia remain far away,
But in the West’s embrace, they flourished and thrived,
In the dance of the night, the undead revived.
Oh, Tremere! The seekers of arcane delight,
In your grasp, the fragile threads of night,
With every ritual, each whispered decree,
You draw ever closer to the essence of thee.
So let the world gaze upon your dark throne,
For in your presence, the night has grown,
And as the candles flicker and the spirits sigh,
In the shadows, the Tremere shall never die.
Thus, may the bards sing of your haunting rise,
Of the echoes of magic beneath moonlit skies,
For in every secret, every whispered plea,
Lies the legacy of darkness—the Tremere’s decree.